I'm Lovin' It
by toffeeglory
Summary: Bella. This is kinda hard to – sa-tell you. Well. The truth. I'm outside your house. Okay. See... I need air, Christ... Okay. Wow, it's hot out here – wait. Okay. I thi-thinkyourepregnant. Ithinkitsmine... oh, by the way, it's Edward. Hi.
1. big mac

**disclaimer: i don't own twilight.**

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><p><em>Maybe he'll go away. Just take a deep breath in… hold it… hold it… hold it… Alright, now you can let it out. There.<em>

I opened my eyes.

_Nope, he's still here._

The chubby man standing before me had not moved a fraction of an inch. Unless you counted the contractions of his belly as he breathed in and out, he was still in the same position he took upon entering this dump of an eating establishment three minutes ago.

Only three minutes ago? That's not that long, you say.

Zip it.

Now, some of my peers, upon finding out where I worked, wondered, "Bella, if there were an award for Most Impatient Person in the World Who Should Definitely Not Work in the Fast Food Industry, the award would definitely go to you; why work where you work?"

The answer:

I am home for the summer. I need money. Get off my fucking back.

_Okay, it is 7:13 PM. Your shift started thirteen minutes ago. Less than four hours until you can blow this shithole. You can do this._

Chubster's eyes darted from right to left as he read from the menu behind me. His lips were pursed, pink and slightly damp. A look of complete concentration was ungracefully gracing his pudgy face. Why he needed to dedicate the attentiveness he was currently displaying, attentiveness that would normally be needed to draw blood from a squirming infant, on '_dinner_' baffled me. In typical Bella fashion, I decided to ignore Customer X (in this case, Chubster) for causing me undue stress and would not address him until he had finally made up his mind on whether he wanted the McHeartAttack or the McStroke.

I heard my coworkers behind me bustling about, bagging orders, shoveling French fries into their little holders, conversing over the low drum of the machines. I heard those noises every day so I didn't pay too much attention to what was happening behind me.

In the dining area, I saw a small girl with curly blond hair scurrying between the white tables, a small toy in her hands. Her parents were waving her over from the opposite side of the restaurant alternating between whispering things to one another from the corners of their mouths and loudly saying, "Casey, get over here, it's time to clean up." Whatever had caught Casey's attention on the other side of the restaurant was gone now and she turned right back around to rush over to her parents. Once back at their table, she helped place all the wrappings of their food on the plastic tray her mother was holding before her. They all rose and after their trash had been properly disposed of, they exited.

The only other people left here to people-watch were an old man sitting at the far end of the restaurant reading today's newspaper and a bum sipping on coffee at the other end. And Chubster. Couldn't forget about Chubster.

Not people I wanted to be watching for the next few hours of mind-numbing labor.

Unsurprisingly, my usual pastime distracted me from Customer X (Chubster) for all of ten seconds; I had no other choice but to observe my surroundings.

There was not much to it. Once you took in the brown and white color palette of the entire area, the metallic overtones of the kitchen, the crappy fluorescent lighting, windows covered in

"ITEM X  
>(PICTURE)<br>ONLY 3.99"

advertisements, and the truly on-par-with-van Gogh paintings lining the walls, you realized this place wasn't that different from any other.

I sighed.

_There go another ten seconds._

"Hey, lady—"

"Hi, welcome to McDonald's. May I interest you in our frozen strawberry lemonade this evening?" I rattled off on instinct.

It took me two seconds to realize that I had just spoken to Chubster. I was staring into his beady brown eyes and he was staring into my eyes, his eyebrows raised.

There was silence and then –

"Yeah, I'll take three number ones, hold the…"

Let the nightmare that is my job begin.

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><p><strong>note: <strong>hello. don't take this story seriously. you'll live longer. smiles all around.

i would like to thank pearl and fo for a night of brainstorming long ago. also, angelica pickles: thanks for looking over it.


	2. apple pie

**note**: unbeta'd, sleep deprived. i figured i owed this to you guys since i haven't updated in over a month. =3 i'm so bad at replying to reviews because i never know how to express proper thanks without sounding like a complete spazz. know i read every single one and i just appreciate everything. so, yesh. :)

**disclaimer**: i don't own twilight.

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><p>"Tomorrow. Cover for me," he demanded.<p>

"No." I replied, crossing my arms and tilting my nose up like a snooty little shit.

"Please."

"No."

"Please."

"No."

"Please."

"No."

"Please."

I huffed and looked at him while sporting the nastiest scowl I could muster. "Did you not hear me the first time?"

Apparently, my facial expression foretelling of his imminent death did nothing to faze him, for once again, he said, "Please."

After working my ass off serving two more customers and cleaning three tables for the remainder of my shift, I decided to call it quits, grabbed my bag, and left thirty-six minutes earlier than I was due to leave.

It went without saying: I deserved employee of the month.

I had exited the building and taken one step in the direction of my truck when Jasper had stepped out of his godforsaken car. As soon as I had come into his line of vision, he'd galloped (because there was no other way to describe his running style) to where I was standing and began to loom over my short form nonthreateningly. In a threatening manner.

His stringy blonde hair dangled in front of his eyes, eyes I knew to be blue but looked like the shittiest shade of grey as we stood in the sparsely lit parking lot of my own personal hell. He widened his eyes as far as he could and slanted his eyebrows in such a way that the skin between them bunched up endearingly. His grungy hands were clasped beneath his chin looking for all the world like a kicked Golden Retriever puppy. He was even pouting his lips.

"Look, Jasper," I began. Frowning, I realized that if I wanted to cut this unwanted meeting short, I'd have to find my keys—fast. My hands dove into the depths of my bag. "I can't do it."

"You have the training."

_Ah, there they are—no, that's my coin purse—been looking for it all day…_

"That _may_ be true but—"

_Pen, pencil, pen… keys…_

"So do it."

_Loose change, pen cap… where the hell are my keys…?_

"No."

I hopped off the sidewalk and onto the asphalt, calmly distancing myself away from him.

Jasper was hot on my heels.

"Bella," he whined. "I have a date tomorrow night. C'mon, do me a solid."

I walked briskly, the echo of my footfalls reverberating in the mostly empty lot. My crappy truck was located at the far end, giving me time to unearth my keys from the Lost-and-Found that was my bag. Extremely bothered with the fact that Jasper thought he could ask me to work his shift the day before his supposed night out with Rosey Palm or whoever the fuck, I couldn't help but throw him a glare over my shoulder.

My fingers brushed against jagged metal and I quickly gripped my keys in my hand.

_Yes!_

"No," I repeated.

Without any warning whatsoever, he took a few steps ahead of me and grabbed me by my upper arms.

"Please," he begged.

My patience, what little I seemed to have, was wearing thin. I shook my shoulders hard and he let go of me.

"What part of 'no' do you not get?" I huffed out, arms akimbo.

He pursed his lips and appeared to be in deep thought.

"I'll tell your manager you've been leaving early," he said. A triumphant smile formed on his lips.

If he thought he could pull petty blackmail over me, he had another thing coming.

"Fine. Go ahead." I snorted. Turning in place, I walked a few more feet and finally reached my truck. I swung the heavy, rusty door open and climbed into the driver's seat, making sure to crank the window open. Jasper stood inches away from my door with the pout back in place. "Good luck getting ahold of him."

"What's that supposed to mean? What'd you do to him?"

I've been friends with Jasper Hale since the glorious, awkward, and life-changing years of adolescence, otherwise known as high school. It's no surprise to anyone in this town, where everybody knows what kind of toilet paper you use to wipe your ass, that I'm not the easiest person to get along with. I'm rather temperamental and more often than not, the townsfolk tend to give me a wide berth.

Anyway, Jasper and I became friends after he accidentally slammed a cafeteria door in my face and broke my nose. He'll say it wasn't his fault, but honestly: who crashes their way through swinging doors? An idiot, that's who. I was a shrimp of a freshman holding onto my bloody nose as I shouted every expletive I knew at him and he was a gangly junior, hunched over apologizing like his life depended on it. You can imagine the sight we were as he walked me to the nurse's office.

I turned up to school the next day with an atrocious nose cast that covered half of my face. Jasper trailed after me like a lost puppy, continuing on with his apology and I yelled some pretty nasty things at him as he followed me from class to class. In the weeks to come, we'd fall into a sense of camaraderie (only after he'd bought me an obscene amount of chocolate in request for forgiveness) and become good friends.

My point was: he knew me better than that. If I ever did in fact do anything to my manager, I'd be way more careful in choosing my words.

"Last hour of work is playtime with Beckham is what I mean," I said.

James Witherdale had to be the laziest manager I had ever worked under. Work, for him, consisted of walking around like he owned the place and leaving an hour early with my fellow employee Victoria 'Beckham' (because I couldn't, for the life of me, remember her actual last name). They had a rather tumultuous relationship; it wasn't peculiar to find her weeping into shredded lettuce while preparing a burger or them playing Seven Minutes in Heaven in the supply closet.

I guess it was to my advantage seeing as it gave me the opportunity to go whenever I pleased, but I digress.

The roar of my engine coming to life nearly scared me to death.

"Bellaaaa," Jasper whined, frantically trying to shake my truck. "Please."

_J.C., give me the strength to keep from strangling him._

My hands gripped the steering wheel. "You know I don't like graveyard shifts, especially not on Fridays."

"I know, but please."

"You're getting on my last nerve."

"Please."

"Last. Nerve."

"_Please_."

"..."

"Pleeeease."

"…"

"Pleasepleasepleaseplease—"

"ALRIGHT, I'LL DO IT!" I shouted.

_Deep breaths, Swan. Deeeeeeep breaths._

I looked over to Jasper and found him fist-pumping and whooping, a shit-eating grin threatening to rip his face apart.

I couldn't help but roll my eyes at his excitement and I hated myself for loving that this made him so happy.

But I guess this would fulfill my good deed of the month.

He told me what I was supposed to do, what to clean, what to expect and finally, after he had talked my ear off long enough, I headed for home.

* * *

><p>"Dad, I'm working tomorrow."<p>

Silence.

"What."

"I'm working tomorrow."

More silence.

"What."

I sighed into the refrigerator as I looked for something to drink.

"I'm covering for someone tomorrow." I spoke to the milk.

Even more silence.

"What."

_Great. He's finally gone deaf. Time to trade him in._

The refrigerator was nearly empty. A quarter gallon of milk sat on the top shelf, along with two slices of cheese and a half-filled carton of eggs. A plastic sippy cup filled with God knows what was tipped over on its side.

I grabbed the cup by its handle and after wiping my shirt gently across the spout to clear it of any germs (okay, there were still bound to be germs on it, but whatever), brought it up to my lips and sucked.

_Apple juice. __**My**__ apple juice._

My eyes scanned the kitchen counters quickly for the container of apple juice but were met with nothing. Typical. Every person in this house was a greedy, gluttonous asshole with good taste and bad manners.

With the sippy cup still in hand, I walked into the living room.

"Dad, the fridge is empty. And why did you give the last of my apple jui—"

A small object flew through the air and struck me in the middle of my forehead sharply. It fell onto the floor with a soft _thunk_ between my feet.

I stood there for a few seconds, completely taken by surprise.

"Ouch."

My hand shot up to rub at my now-smarting flesh. I mourned the day I came into being as I recalled the sensitivity of my skin and knew I would most likely have an ugly bruise (for all the word to see) by tomorrow. A string of curse words were ready to make their way out of my mouth but I had to bite my tongue as I took one look at the culprit.

Agnes sat on the coffee table clutching a brown leather slingshot with both hands as she giggled to herself. Dad smiled down at her and ruffled her golden-brown hair.

I had walked into a trap.

"Nice work there, kiddo." He chuckled and donning his I'm-the-best-fucking-dad-in-the-universe smile, looked over to me.

With my hand still rubbing at my forehead and my eyes filling with as much anger as possible, I'd like to think I made the perfect picture of fury.

Dad's smile widened.

Taking one glance at the clock and my still-awake sister, I marched over to the table and hoisted her up into my arms, knocking the stupid contraption out of her small hands. She laughed as I balanced her on my hip and gave her, her sippy cup.

"Where's Mom? Why is Agnes still awake? The h are you doing, Dad?" I demanded of him.

He ruffled my hair like a dog. He knew perfectly well I didn't like it when he pulled that shit. "She's in the garden. We were just having some fun."

I swatted his hand away. "It's almost midnight. Get Mom inside. I'm putting your kid to bed. Say goodnight."

Chortling, he made sure to pinch my cheek lovingly and told me to get some sleep. He bent over at the waist to give Agnes a kiss on the forehead and told her to sleep well, all the while humming like the day had just begun. It was all sorts of adorable when she waved him off as he walked over to the backdoor, opened it, and went in search of our harebrained mother.

Agnes sucked loudly on her cup. My eyes shifted down to find her already staring at me with her wide blue eyes.

"You got the last of my apple juice, didn't you?" I accused her.

She tilted the spout out of her mouth with a loud sucking noise, got out, "Yeth," and went back to drinking.

_The nerve._

"You owe me," I told her, pinching her chunky thigh.

As I started moving in the direction of the stairs, Agnes let out one of her surprised laughs.

Unfortunately, the goof forgot everything she knew about swallowing and therefore, sprayed apple juice all over my front. That only caused her to laugh harder.

_Mother of God._

I stomped up the stairs with a rowdy toddler in my hands.

"We're going to the grocery store tomorrow. You owe me."


End file.
